Gotham Archives
by Razzmatazz Lady
Summary: A new series mixture of all the Batman movies including Chris Nolan's and Batman: The Animated Series. Current Plot: Batman must take down a villain with unaturally persuasive powers. But how can you beat someone you must obey?
1. Prologue

**Gotham Archives**

Characters & Prologue

**Author's Note:** Since this is a mash-up of all things Batman, I will provide a list you can see at any time of current characters. It may change as different characters join the story. When I make a story, I have to be able to picture the characters, so I'll tell which movie/show version I'm using for each character. If you'd rather just see the people as they're introduced, feel free to skip this. I recommend reading it just because it has some important info. The prologue is simply to establish the time and setting. Enjoy! R&R!

Characters:

Batman/Bruce Wayne- Doesn't really matter, but I'm thinking Christian Bale/Michael Keaton because they were the best Batmen (mans?) so far.

The Joker- Batman: The Animated Series/ Heath Ledger versions. Heath was amazing, but not quite as funny as my version. So he'll have his old wacky humor but with Heath's darker portrayal. See Arkham Asylum video game trailers on Youtube for looks.

Harley Quinn- The BTAS version because that's the only one I know.

Commissioner Gordon- Most versions are basically the same, but I think I'm going for Chris Nolan's more competent type.

Jonathan Crane/Scarecrow- Cillian Murphy did this role so well in Batman Begins, so it'll mostly be him. But I have been researching the character, so I'll try to use what I know of the comics.

Harvey Dent/Two Face- Aaron Eckhart's portrayal from The Dark Knight, but a little angrier like the original versions. Obviously, he didn't die at the end of The Dark Knight in this story.

Alfred Pennyworth- All versions rock.

Harvey Bullock- BTAS version. I don't know how much he'll really be in the story…

Renée Montoya- BTAS version. Again, I'm not sure how much she'll be in the story.

Coleman Reese- Dark Knight is the only version. He still works at Wayne Enterprises and has not told anyone Batman's identity…yet.

Lucius Fox- Chris Nolan's Batman Begins/Dark Knight version.

Cedric Lucid- OC head of Arkham Asylum. Look-wise, I'm thinking Paul McGillian (Carson Beckett on Stargate Atlantis)

Phoebe Malaise- OC one of the head psychiatrists at Arkham Asylum. She worked there while Jonathan Crane still ran it. I don't know who look-wise.

Alexander Knox- I guess the Tim Burton Batman version, but a bit more young and eager. For looks I'm thinking Justin Bartha (Riley Poole in National Treasure)

That's all I can think of for now. There will also be different villains not mentioned above. Wayne Manor is still standing, although the whole Raas Al Ghul thing happened. Batman is NOT on the run from the police. You shall soon see why…

Prologue

"I can't believe this. What's becoming of Gotham?" Commissioner Jim Gordon said to the burly man standing next to him. He raked his fingers through his graying hair. He couldn't believe Gotham's White Knight would soon be in handcuffs, being escorted down Arkham's vast halls to a cell in Maximum Security. Gordon had volunteered to be there for precautionary purposes and Harvey Bullock naturally wanted to come along.

"It's kinda ironic, though. Dent tried to get me kicked off the force, ya know. And now look, who's the one getting his very own straight jacket?" Bullock replied disagreeably. He fiddled with his toothpick; he almost always had one clamped between his teeth. Gordon was still debating whether he did it to appear tough or as a nervous habit.

"Yeah, but this wasn't his fault. I think…with the right treatment…maybe he still has some hope. Maybe-"

"Are you serious? No disrespect, Commissioner, but he murdered people in cold blood. He thinks with that coin of his, he's the judge, jury, and executioner. Dent's got his own sort of justice. In fact, he's kinda like Batman."

Gordon's head snapped up. "Harvey Dent is nothing like Batman. Batman never killed anyone. He's the one who caught Dent _and_ The Joker."

"Took him long enough," Bullock scoffed. "Two Face's been runnin' a muck for days, and _now_ he catches him? If you ask me, Bats oughta learn to respect the law and quit makin' trouble for the rest of the city. Ya know he's the reason most of these criminals even exist."

Gordon was about to say something totally inappropriate for a commissioner, when he noticed a petite blonde woman wearing handcuffs and being guided by two male Arkham workers.

"Who's that?" The woman had big, rather childlike blue eyes and messy blonde hair. She might have been cute if it weren't for the look of sheer, inhuman madness in those sky blue eyes.

"Harleen Quinzel, Joker's henchgirl. Total freak."

"Oh, right, Harley Quinn. I didn't recognize her without the make-up and costume." He shook his head. "It's like this place is cursed. Everyone who works here eventually takes up a life of crime."

"Not everyone." Gordon and Bullock whipped around to see the man who had just walked up. He was a bit short and just a little pudgy, like a penguin. This small resemblance was increased even further by the man's inky black hair and black and white suit. He looked to be somewhere in his mid to late thirties. Gordon felt embarrassed by his thoughtless comment, but the man's friendly turquoise eyes showed anything but annoyance.

"You must be Dr. Cedric Lucid," Gordon said, extending his hand. Cedric shook it and then shook Bullock's.

"I of course see where you're coming from, Commissioner. Dr. Quinzel was an exceptional psychiatrist, as was Dr. Crane from what I've heard. It's a shame they couldn't handle the stress."

"From what you've heard?" questioned Bullock.

"I never worked with him. When his activities were discovered, I was transferred here from my post in Carson City. I thought that it was only a temporary state, that Harleen would take over my position as head at Arkham, but obviously that is now impossible. So it looks like I'll be staying."

The three men fell silent and watched as Harvey Dent was now forced through the hall's large doors and pulled along by two more guards. The young guard on his left side kept glancing at Harvey's gruesome burns and back. That was until Two Face gave him a menacing glare that showed quite plainly he would not think twice about putting a bullet in the man's head. Make that two bullets.

When Harvey was about to pass him, Cedric stopped him short. He held out his left hand expectantly.

"What?" Harvey asked with a dangerous tone in his voice.

"Your coin please, Mr. Dent."

_Does this guy know what he's getting himself into here in Gotham?_ Gordon wondered. _He acts so timid. I don't know if he gets how psychotic some of these criminals are._

Surprisingly, Harvey handed over the burnt coin with no argument. If this pleased Dr. Lucid at all, he didn't show it. His face seemed to be a constant mask of apprehension. Maybe he did know what he was dealing with.

The guards began to take Two Face away to his cell, but he stopped dead in front of the Commissioner. Then he looked Gordon directly in the eye and made what might have been a promise or a threat.

"I'll get it back."

"Dr. Malaise, will you please put this in my office? It may be helpful for his therapy."

"Of course." Phoebe Malaise was a thin woman, a gawky mass of lanky arms and legs. She was average height and had incredibly wide gray eyes behind her rectangular glasses. Her short, straight dark hair was always kept immaculately neat.

Cedric turned to Gordon and Bullock. "I'm sorry, have you met Dr. Malaise? She's one of our top psychiatrists."

"We've met actually," Bullock said.

In response to Cedric's quizzical look, Phoebe explained, "I was questioned after they caught Dr. Crane. I had to testify against him."

"Anyway," Gordon said hurriedly. "We had better get going. Have a lot to do back at the station. Bye."

"Oh, well, thank you both for coming."

As they were walking to their separate cars in the parking lot, Bullock noticed how troubled the Commissioner looked.

"Hey, you're not worried 'bout Dent, are you? He's in Maximum Security. No way he's breaking outta there."

"People have before."

"Don't worry. I think Gotham might be lookin' toward a better future. Maybe the storm's finally passin' over."

Little did anyone know that, in reality, the storm had just begun.

**Author's Note:** So what did you think? Should I continue? Sorry for the short chapter, but it is a prologue after all. Please review! They make me write faster! If you have any questions at all, feel free to ask in a review or message!


	2. Gotham's Visitor

**Gotham Archives**

1. Gotham's Visitor

Robert Patrick Modell couldn't help but smile as he walked out of the train station and into the busy streets of Gotham. It was what many considered the most soiled of all cities. Modell could see it: the desperate look in people's eyes, their sorrow…their weakness. They were like mindless insects, following the same routine every day and never questioning this absurd system. Not a single person on the sidewalk even gave him more than a passing glance. At least he wouldn't stick out. Not that it mattered if he did. No one could stop him, not even this legendary 'Batman'. Of course, Batman was the reason Modell came in the first place. The first worthy opponent he had found in months of searching. Modell needed a challenge after all his last effortless games.

Games. That's all they were; little forms of entertainment to prove his complete control over anyone. But lately they had lacked the joy. No one argued, no one fought, no one even cared when he was finished. Sure, the money was all good and well, but Modell needed more than that. He needed the feeling of strength and power. The knowledge that others were defenseless to stop him. And that would come once he overthrew Gotham.

"Mr. Wayne will see you now," Maxine chirped in her overly happy voice. It was her only real flaw. She was always polite, very smart, and the best secretary Bruce Wayne had had in some time. But her voice was simply too cheery, especially considering Coleman Reese was already strongly contemplating jumping out the huge twentieth floor window in Mr. Wayne's office.

"All right," Coleman mumbled nervously, tugging at his jacket's cuffs. But he just continued sitting there until Maxine looked up again.

"_Now_, Mr. Reese," she clarified, her voice just a tad less happy.

Coleman sighed and got up. He entered Mr. Wayne's massive office. It was all white, black, and metallic gray, designed into geometric patterns that seemed to radiate power. Bruce stood with his back to Coleman, staring out at the city through his enormous window. His usually arrogant, but now rather scared, employee didn't know what to do so he simply stood there, waiting for the rich heir to say the first word.

Finally, Bruce turned around sat in his impressive black leather chair.

"Sit down, Mr. Reese," he said nonchalantly. Coleman didn't need telling twice. He quickly sat in the chair opposite Mr. Wayne's, on the other side of his desk. He sat up pencil straight and tried to look as professional as possible.

"So, Mr. Reese. You never did fully explain how you found out my secret."

"Um, well, it wasn't too easy, sir," Coleman stammered. _Why is he stalling? Can't he just fire me and be done with it? _"I really never would have guessed if it weren't for Mr. Fox having me look back over those financial records. But the numbers didn't add up. And I never leave numbers unaccounted for. So, naturally I reviewed older records. There were large amounts of money that were just disappearing. I tried looking it up in the main database, but there was virtually no explanation as to where that money was going. At first, I suspected embezzling. But that didn't make sense. Why would one of the richest men in the world need to steal money from his own company? I did consider for just a moment that you might be…you know. But I dismissed the idea. Yet, it stuck in my mind. After all, you would be one of the few people who could afford such a suit and car. Then I-"

He had taken to rambling by now. It was one of his obsessive habits to thoroughly explain his entire thought process. Coleman couldn't stand to not know something. That was part of the reason he had pursued that missing currency so fixatedly. But now he hesitated. He doubted Mr. Wayne would be very happy about what he had done next.

"And then what?" Bruce inquired, fixing his dark, solemn eyes on the short man in front of him. He knew what came next in the story, but he wondered if Mr. Reese would deny it. _He's probably too afraid to, now that he knows who I am and what I've done. He must think I'm gonna snap his neck or something. _Bruce almost laughed at the thought, but restrained himself.

"Then I…I snuck into- into Mr. Fox's office…after-hours. It- it was a terrible thing to do and I'm sorry, but I just… Anyway, that's where I found the blueprints for the bat-car-thingy."

"Batmobile."

"Oh… Is that really what you call it?"

"Yeah."

Coleman was quiet for several minutes. He was terrified. He didn't want to lose his job; he had never been fired in his life. Why had he been so stupid? He could have just let Bruce be Batman in peace and go on with his life. But no, he had to try the blackmail thing.

_Oh crap, _he thought. _What if he wants to press charges? I just told him the whole freaking story! Now I'm gonna go to jail and rot in a prison cell with some cellmate named Butch. I'm gonna have to wear one of those hideous orange jumpsuits and pee in public. What if I have to be with one of those really crazy criminals, like Zsaz or…THE JOKER? _Ever since having random people try to kill him, Coleman had been absolutely horrified of The Joker. Every once in a while, he would see someone wearing purple or too much lipstick and be sure that it was HIM. That HE had broken out and was going to finish what the citizens of Gotham couldn't.

"You're a very smart man, Mr. Reese."

"I am?"

"Yes. In fact, you're one of the very select few who know who I am. Now, that could make you a threat or an ally. Maybe you want to try to blackmail me again. Maybe you think I'm just a vigilante who causes more trouble than he's worth, in which case you might turn me in to the police. But those are just possibilities. You could have changed your views and want to help me. Maybe you've seen that I'm actually somewhat helpful, considering I saved your life. You could be a tremendous help to me."

"Yes! I want to help, Mr. Wayne. I won't tell anyone that you're- you know. I promise to-"

"Mr. Reese," Bruce cut him off. "If you do join my side, it won't be easy, especially since nearly everyone knows you know who Batman is. You've seen what can happen to those who try to save the city and stop crime…all those cops, Harvey Dent, innocent citizens…Rachel Dawes."

Bruce paused here and looked mournfully over at the wall. He thought of how his life had been like that wall. All anyone saw when they looked at him was this beautiful wallpaper, a perfectly designed life. No scratches or problems or stains of any kind. But underneath…underneath there was just this structure, trying to keep itself together. Trying not to cave in because, if it ever did, how many people would die? How many people would perish if Bruce ever gave up or fell down? He was not like other people who are flawed and allowed mistakes. He was a wall. An impenetrable and indestructible wall. And a wall cannot fall without consequences.

"Mr. Wayne!" Maxine's voice came loudly over the intercom. "There's some sort of emergency on the sixteenth floor, Mr. Rivet's office. The police have been called."

Bruce jumped out of his seat and headed for the door. Coleman did the same.

"You may return to what you were doing, Mr. Reese," Bruce said now that Maxine was within earshot. "Think about what I told you."

With that he ran to the elevator, startling several other employees in his rush.

"Martin Rivet, 47, married with one daughter. He's been an employee here at Wayne Enterprises for over twenty years. No previous suicide attempts," Bullock listed off what the police and CSI knew so far about their victim. Rivet lay beside his desk, his eyes open but unseeing. There was a single gunshot wound on the side of his head.

"I put time of death at around thirty minutes ago," stated one CSI who had just finished checking Rivet's temperature.

"Didn't anyone hear the shot?" a female officer asked. Renée Montoya had her dark, wavy hair pulled back and wasn't wearing any make-up at the moment. It was supposed to be her day off but, since she lived so close to the crime scene, Bullock had called her in. She figured it was payback for calling him a sexist jerk the week before.

"Yeah, several employees did," replied Gordon. "But no one seems to remember seeing anyone leave the office. It looks like a suicide, other than…the paint…I'm gonna go talk to Mr. Wayne, see what he knows."

He left the room and approached Mr. Wayne, who was standing solemnly in the hallway. He explained that they thought it was most likely a suicide.

"Most likely?" Bruce repeated. "You're not sure?"

"Well, there are a few irregularities."

"You know," Bruce said thoughtfully. "It doesn't make much sense to me. We have security at every entrance to this building. Everyone has to go through a metal detector when they come in, unless they have a special pass issued by Lucius Fox or myself. I know Mr. Rivet didn't have any such thing. How could he have gotten in here with a gun with no one noticing?"

"That's one of the irregularities. But we need you to take a look at another one."

Bruce followed Gordon back into Rivet's office. On the wall behind his desk were these words written in bright blue paint:

**JUST A PREVIEW**

**Author's Note:** I promise there's gonna be more action throughout the story including assassinations and suicides! So keep reading, okay? And reviews are appreciated! :)

Anyone who knows the X Files and Pusher knows why the paint is blue ;)


	3. Caught But Not Captured

**Gotham Archives**

2. Caught But Not Captured

"A preview. It mean anything to you, Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce shook his head, studying the message. "I can't say it does. I'm sorry, Commissioner."

Another CSI held up a can of paint found behind the desk. "Cerulean Blue. My wife and I just painted our kitchen this color."

Bullock scoffed. "Betcha gonna rethink that now, huh?"

Montoya rolled her eyes.

Bruce and Gordon just continued staring at the message on the wall. Cerulean Blue had never looked so sinister.

Daniel Chao was not a big fan of his job. But being a nurse at Arkham Asylum was about the best job a psychiatry student could get in Gotham. His friends who weren't from the area thought his job sounded awesome. Imagine, being around the glorious criminals of Gotham City! They thought he should be in heaven, conversing and seeing such famous and interesting subjects. Daniel had felt that way too, until he realized the horror within Arkham…until The Joker nearly carved his face off for a laugh…until Scarecrow became obsessed with finding his deepest fear…until Harley Quinn took it upon herself to make sure every patient in Arkham called him Danny Boy.

In a nutshell, he was most certainly _not_ looking forward to The Joker his lunch. Due to some violent activity involving water balloons, a screwdriver, and a now hospitalized guard, the clown prince of crime was officially confined to his cell until further notice. But still, he had to eat. This conclusion was beyond Daniel, but that was how most things were at Arkham. He finally got to the maximum-security section and sighed as he approached the room dreaded by every employee.

The two guards posted in this hallway both nodded grimly at Daniel. They looked sympathetic, but this did little to comfort him. At least they had guns; all he got was a freaking tazor. He braced himself as he slid the key card through the space every door there had. _Here goes nothing…_

"And how are we today, Danny Boy?" asked the grinning maniac gleefully. His plastered-on smile seemed especially big that day.

"Fine," he mumbled as he closed the door behind him. He began to set out The Joker's meal on the rolling cart he brought along.

"You don't _sound_ fine. You sound downright depressed. Why so blue? A death in the family, perhaps? Or you found out you have a flesh-eating disease that will kill you before you even turn thirty? Or maybe you've finally realized how blatantly pathetic and meaningless your life is and you've decided to drown yourself in the river tonight. If so, I must commend you. It's good to have self-awareness."

He broke into hysterics at this point and rocked back and forth on his bed. He might have slapped his knee were it not for the straight jacket.

Daniel remained quiet. It was about time to remove his binds, the worst part since you never knew if it'd be the last thing you do. The Joker finally stilled and beamed up at him. After removing the straight jacket, the patient would eat, put it back on, and allow the nurse to leave in peace.

The Joker ate savagely sometimes, slowly others. It depended how much he wanted to torment his chaperone. Today he was eating slowly.

"So," he said in a mock-business tone. "Have you heard about the tragic death at Wayne Enterprises? I heard some poor chap got a splitting headache. HeehahaHAhaHaheeHEEhaHAha! Get it? 'Cause he got a bullet to the head! That's called a pun, Danny. You really should learn your comedic terminology."

Daniel was trying extremely hard to keep calm. Why couldn't one of the professionals feed this freak? He took a deep breath. He was fine, no need to worry. He'd be out soon enough and then the nut job could talk about death with the guards.

"I heard there were some weird things about the whole thing. They found paint on the walls. Surprised they could find anything. There must have been loads of blood. Buckets upon buckets. That's what happens you know. Now you know I usually prefer a knife or some agonizing poison to spread joy, but when I do shoot someone, I like it to be close-range. Then the CSI has to deal with the brain matter. It puts a smile on my face to know that I get to show these crime scene cleaners what's really on a person's mind. 'Cause they don't get it. They think the person didn't suffer…but then again, most of them _are_ idiots. You see, my victims do suffer. A great deal. You see it in their face; the last second they still have a face anyway. They know their head's about to be blown to bits. That knowledge drives them crazy. So, in a way, we're all the same in our last moment. We're all insane."

Daniel went into the hallway and vomited. He hated his job.

Batman scanned the area around Wayne Enterprises. He wanted to be ready if Rivet's killer came back. He was sure it was a murder. Nothing about it added up. He hadn't bothered telling the cops that they had security cameras in the hall and Rivet's office. He planned on looking them over on his own.

Unfortunately, he couldn't stay there all night. Other vicious crimes would be going on in other parts of Gotham. Batman spread his cape and dove off his post, soaring towards the eastern side of town. He stopped a mugging with a simple look and was able stop two thieves from escaping the jewelry store they had just hit. He had just decided to go back to the Narrows, when he heard the distant alarm of Gotham Bank.

It took longer getting around without the Batmobile, but criminals had been quiet the last few days. So it took a little longer getting to the bank than Bruce would have liked. When he got there, however, the robber was just leaving the bank. Robber: singular.

He was an average-sized man with light brown hair and strangely shadowed eyes. He grinned smugly when Batman landed in front of him.

_There's something seriously wrong here_, Bruce thought. _He doesn't have a gun, henchmen, not even a mask. Either he's incredibly arrogant or he's got something up his sleeve. _

"Hello," the man said calmly. "Bat something-or-other, isn't it?"

"You want to put down that money and explain what exactly you're doing here?"

"I heard you were dense, Batman, but this is worse than I expected. I thought it was perfectly clear that what exactly I'm doing here is robbing a bank."

"That's not going to happen. Put down the money and lay face-down on the ground."

"Hmm…let me think that over…"

He started to run, but the Caped Crusader caught him easily. He dropped the moneybags and Batman lifted him off the ground by his shoulders.

"Batman," the robber said. "Batman, I need you to do me a favor. Put me down. Let me go and don't come after me. You don't need to catch me. You can take a break, Batman. You've been working too hard. Let me go."

And Batman…did just that. He set the man down, who then picked up the money and went on his way.

"Oh, and by the way," said the man, looking back. "The name's Pusher."

A police peeled down the road and screeched to halt in front of the bank. Bullock and Montoya jumped out and ran up to Batman. Pusher was already out of sight.

"Batman," Montoya began, but Bullock cut her off.

"Did you just let a bank robber get away? What's your problem? He was half your size and we were right down the street!"

He stopped when he noticed that Batman was completely unfocused, shoulders slumped and face downcast.

"Hey, what's up? What are you doing?"  
The superhero finally looked up and answered with blank, expressionless eyes.

"Taking a break."

**Author's Note:** So, getting into some action! A bit shorter chap, though...I stole the "Bat something-or-other, isn't it" line from The Riddler on the Batman: The Animated Series episode If Your So Smart, Why Aren't You Rich? I hope everyone likes this story! Does anyone think The Joker is too dark in this? I tried to add some sick humor, but I'm not sure how it turned out. Feedback is HIGHLY appreciated! Don't just put it on favorites or alert, please review!


	4. One And The Same

**Gotham Archives**

3. One And The Same

"Alfred, it was as if I'd been put under a trance."

Bruce was sitting in front his large computer in the Bat Cave with Alfred standing dutifully beside him.

"There is, of course, verbal hypnotism," he continued. "But this was like nothing I've ever seen. It was like everything he said made perfect sense and I didn't even think of contradicting it…what do you think?"

"Well, Master Bruce, I'm not an expert on hypnosis, but I have heard that the subject usually has to contribute in some way…prepare oneself. But this sounds as though you literally had no control."

Bruce sighed. "Either way, I need to go over these security tapes."

He slipped in the tape and a large foursquare appeared on the screen. The two top squares showed different angles of the hallway outside Rivet's office. The bottom left showed inside of his office and the last one showed the lobby.

"This is about an hour before Rivet was murdered. We need to watch the lobby for anyone the least bit suspicious."

He put the video on fast forward, watching the entrance doors carefully. Finally, he hit a button and quickly rewound to pause on a man entering.

"That man…" he said quietly. His dark eyes lit up in recognition. "That's the bank robber!"

"The one who calls himself Pusher? The hypnotist?"

"Yes, that's definitely him."

He hit play and watched as Pusher approached the guard at the metal detector, said something inaudible, and pointed to something white pinned on his shirt. The guard nodded and let him around. Bruce rewound and zoomed in on the white slip. He and Alfred both gaped. It was nothing more than a bit of notebook paper taped to Pusher's shirt. It said in large, scrawled handwriting 'PASS'.

Both men looked bewilderedly at each other, but continued the tape nonetheless, now focusing on the hallway. Pusher left the elevator, saying something to a woman passing. He reached Rivet's door and knocked politely. Martin Rivet, whom Bruce knew to be very kind and trusting, let him in. Bruce knew what was coming, but stared determinedly at the square showing the office anyway.

Alfred took a step back; he had great distaste for murder. Bruce expected Pusher to blow Rivet's brains out at any second but…

But instead he began speaking. Bruce silently cursed himself for not also getting the audio for the tapes. Rivet looked surprised at first, but slowly his eyes glazed over and he began nodding. Bruce realized this was what he must have looked like the night before. Then Pusher handed the gun to Rivet, who looked at it for only a moment before putting it to his head and pulling the trigger. Alfred looked away.

Bruce clenched his fists as he watched Pusher leave the office calmly and address the few people in the hallway before leaving Wayne Enterprises. What was going on?

"What the devil is going on?" Alfred inquired, reading his companion's thoughts.

"I don't know, old friend. But I intend to get to the bottom of it."

Barbara Gordon frowned at her chemistry homework. Frowning never did seem to help, but she was too tired to care.

_I finally get to come home for break to see Dad and I have to do homework? This has got to count as child labor or something._

True, a college student was no longer really a child, but that didn't help her mood. Her father was gone all yesterday investigating an apparent suicide. This kind of case never made much for dinner conversation and he'd been very quiet since she'd gotten home. Barbara was sure he was still feeling guilty about how the Harvey Dent situation turned out. She couldn't see how he blamed himself, though. Dent went insane, killed people, and claimed he was serving justice the entire time. Her father didn't make him do that.

"Barbara? You here?" Jim Gordon's voice rang through the house. Barbara hadn't even heard him come inside.

"Yeah, Dad. I'm in the kitchen. I made pasta for dinner."

"Oh, you didn't have to do that," he insisted, entering the kitchen. He walked over to the TV set on the counter and turned it on. It was already on the news station; Gordon didn't watch much else. But Barbara frowned disapprovingly.

"Isn't there anything more cheerful on?"

"We have to know what's going on in the city. You never know when an important situation will arise."

"The Joker's still in Arkham, right?"

"Yes, but he's escaped before. And besides, Killer Croc is still on the streets…or in the sewers."

"Killer what?"

"Oh…I'd forgotten to tell you about Waylon Jones…Barbara, do you remember going to the circus when you were little and seeing the alligator-man?"

"Yeah."

"Jones is like him, except bigger, more dangerous, and with a much more severe case of Epidermolytic Hyperkeratosis."

"Huh?"

"The disease that makes him look like a crocodile. As I said, his is a rare case. The doctors at Gotham General and Arkham all said they've never seen such a severe and progressive case of it."

"Yikes. I'd hate to run into him. What does he do? I mean we all know The Joker's crimes are random…and Two Face leaves his up to chance. What does Killer Croc do?"

"Well, he's not the brightest criminal. When he came a couple months ago, he tried starting a gang, but few criminals would follow him after seeing what a temper he has. He's rather…_sensitive_ about his condition."

"Why do all the psychos come to Gotham?"

Gordon chuckled grimly. "I don't know, Barbara. But we're all-"

"Dad, look," Barbara interjected, pointing at the television. Summer Gleeson was in front of a desolate intersection, staring at the camera with glazed eyes. The camera was tilted oddly so that Summer appeared diagonally across the screen. Her light strawberry blonde hair was messy and her blazer was buttoned incorrectly, as though she'd gotten ready in a rush. Soon she began to speak.

"This is Summer Gleeson with a special news bulletin. A new criminal mastermind has come to Gotham."

In a nearby house, Montoya stared at the TV in wonder. Summer certainly didn't have her normal, energetic reporter voice. Instead, she sounded monotone and dreamy. Montoya turned the volume up.

"Who is this fearsome genius? His name is Pusher and our city is lucky enough to have his undivided attention. For you daring souls who think you can perhaps defeat him, please stay home twiddling your thumbs…for your sake."

Bullock didn't even bother glancing down when his toothpick fell to the floor. He was watching Summer's announcement with rapt attention. _Who's Pusher? What kind of name is that? Maybe he's a drug lord…_

"For the time being, most of you miscreants are safe. Pusher has focused his concentration on the two most powerful men in Gotham…Batman and Bruce Wayne. He is going to make sure that if they manage to live through the week, they'll wish they were dead. He also plans-"

Suddenly, she was cut off by two uniformed cops. They each grabbed an arm and began pulling the dazed reporter to a nearby patrol car. She didn't put up a fight.

Gordon jumped from the table, grabbed his coat, and left for the station. Barbara got up to call any friends who hadn't heard the newscast.

Renée Montoya stared at the screen, wondering what was becoming of the city. Seriously, who broadcasts their plans on live television?

Bullock threw his sandwich at the TV. It splattered bologna, tomato, and mustard all over the screen, but Bullock was too busy yelling about criminal scum to care.

The inmates at Arkham Asylum were debating on whether or not this Pusher character would be able to kill the Batman. The discussion was so heated that fists were flying within seconds. The Joker only stared at the now-black television, laughing hysterically.

And up on a hill inside a gothic mansion, a white-haired butler said to his friend and master in a poor attempt at humor, "I wonder how Pusher would react if he knew his two targets were really one and the same.

**Author's Note:** Please review! I really appreciate it and I really don't feel like continuing to update if I'm not getting any feedback. It means a lot, people. BTW who likes Pusher as a villain? I know he doesn't appear much; that's only because he gets others to do his dirty work. XD


	5. 5 Poison And Windows

**Gotham Archives**

4. Poison And Windows

"We're quite sure this Pusher character is the same man that killed Martin Rivet," Gordon told Bruce, who was now at the police station with dozens of officers ready to put their lives on the line for him.

"I thought you said it was a suicide," Bruce replied, feigning ignorance. Of course Pusher had forced Rivet to commit suicide, just as he had made Summer Gleeson say that odd news broadcast. Now he was going to make some other innocent citizen try to kill Gotham's wealthiest resident. Bruce could only wonder how he planned to take down Batman.

"Well, we have reason to believe Pusher may have made him commit suicide by force. We're not sure how, but we have professionals examining Miss Gleeson, so we should have some answers soon," Gordon explained. "You're in good hands, Mr. Wayne. For now, we're going to send you home with a few officers to keep guard."

The few officers were four beat cops to patrol the grounds of Wayne Manor, and Montoya and Bullock to stay inside with Bruce.

As they walked outside the police station, dozens of reporters crowded the stairs, trying to get to Bruce. Summer Gleeson was, of course, not among them.

"Mr. Wayne, do you know why Pusher has targeted you?"

"What measures are being taken to protect Gotham's richest heir?"

"Is there any idea as to who this Pusher is?"

"How can you be sure the police protecting you won't fall victim to Pusher's powers?"

This last question came from Alexander Know, who had fiercely elbowed his way through the sea of reporters to get to Bruce. The other reporters gave him dirty looks. Only Knox would ask such a dumb question, assuming that this guy had supernatural powers. Of course, he'd been right about Batman; he never let anyone forget that.

Bruce frowned, not sure how to answer. Montoya cut in. "Listen, everybody, the GCPD is taking every precaution possible to ensure Mr. Wayne's safety. No further comments."

Montoya and Bullock ushered Bruce into a squad car, while the other officers took separate vehicles. It didn't take long to escape the crowd and drive up the vast hill to Wayne Manor.

"So this is how the other half lives," Bullock said, as he got out of the car. Montoya elbowed him in the ribs and he glared at her, looking ready offer a rude hand gesture or two.

_Great, _Bruce thought_. As if I wasn't already responsible for my own safety and theirs, I have to worry about these two acting like a competitive brother and sister. How am I going to protect everyone…_

The beat cops set up a perimeter around the mansion, while Alfred escorted Bruce, Montoya, and Bullock into the house.

"May I offer you all some beverages? We have coffee, water, many varieties of tea, juices…"

Both Montoya and Bullock said coffee was fine, while Bruce asked for some of the energy shake he'd made earlier. It was a revolting green substance with an even worse aftertaste, but Bruce knew he needed all the strength he had if he did eventually have to fight off armed cops without hurting any of them. He assumed that was what Pusher had planned.

"Everything is going to be all right," Montoya assured Bruce with a smile, seeming to sense his deep thoughts. Bullock nodded reassuringly.

"Yeah, no psycho's gettin' into this house," he said, leaning back into the couch. "We can promise you that."

Alfred came back in with the drinks on a silver tray and calmly set them down on the small coffee table. He then left the room.

Bruce marveled at how calm Alfred could stay in these situations. They were all in danger, yet he remained so composed…so tranquil.

_Perhaps he is upset,_ he considered. _He left the room so quickly, didn't even stop to speak-_

"Don't drink that!" Bruce yelled suddenly, jumping to his feet. Bullock froze with the mug inches from his mouth, while Montoya dropped hers to the ground in surprise.

The cops started to speak, but Bruce sprinted from the room.

"Alfred!" he called, glancing in each room he passed. Finally, he reached the kitchen and found his butler, a small glass raised to his mouth.

"Alfred, don't!"

The older gentleman looked only for a moment, with blank eyes. He then went to drink. In what seemed like a millisecond, Bruce was by his side, wrestling the cup away from him. Alfred struggled with unusual strength; finally, the millionaire shoved him with all his might, so that he fell backward, his head connecting with the hard counter.

The police all ran in to find Bruce panting, clutching a glass so tightly his knuckles were white, and his elderly butler lying unconscious on the floor.

"The…the only way," Bruce gasped, eyes wide and sweat pouring from his face. "It was…the only way."

"I'm so sorry," Bruce repeated for the umpteenth time, his head in his hands. He was seated across from Alfred in one of the many living rooms. His dear friend was holding an ice pack to his head. Despite his protests, doctors insisted this was the best thing to do.

"I repeat Master Bruce: I do not mind your violent actions in the least. I'm only grateful I fought Bruce Wayne rather than you-know-who," he added with a wink. Bruce smiled; they were alone and it was safe to speak freely.

"It was the only way to keep you from drinking it," Bruce reiterated. "I have no doubt you would have fought to the death to fulfill Pusher's motives."

Alfred nodded solemnly. "Thanks to you, no one was hurt."

Gordon entered the room, looking anxious and disheveled.

"Mr. Wayne, I heard there was an emergency. Something about poison? Montoya gave me the basics, but honestly, most of the cops here are as confused as I am about what happened."

"Pusher was here long before I even arrived. He must've come in shortly after I came to the police station. He made Alfred wait until I got home with the police to offer us drinks. He knew I would accept, somehow."

Alfred took up the story. "Under his power I poisoned each of the drinks, laced them all with arsenic…" He trailed off, thinking once again of what he would have done if he'd killed the closest thing he'd had to a son.

"Luckily, I knew something was up," Bruce said. "Alfred always waits to ask if the drinks are all right. This time, he didn't. I found him about to drink his own glass of poisoned water, but managed to get it away."

"That was very brave of you," Gordon said, obviously impressed.

"Yeah well, without Alfred, I'd have to clean this place myself," the playboy millionaire said with a smarmy grin, always quick to keep up the Bruce Wayne persona.

Gordon rolled his eyes. "We'll be in touch Mr. Wayne. We're keeping cops around the mansion to protect you, but I suggest not getting to close to anyone. We can't be sure who Pusher's next pawn will be."

Coleman Reese was shredding the final unneeded papers of a long day. It was extremely late; why, in a few hours, workers would be at Wayne Enterprises to start another workday. He'd finished actual work hours ago, but had stayed later to study the Pusher situation. He had figured out Batman's identity, maybe he could shed some light on this terrorist.

"Time to hit the road, buddy,"

Coleman turned around with a squeak. He saw a man who looked oddly familiar, with light brown hair and sunken eyes.

"Maybe if you weren't here so late, you wouldn't be so jumpy," the man observed, smirking at Coleman's reaction.

The embarrassed employee blushed. "That's none of your business. Who are you anyway? Why are _you_ here so late?"

"I'm the night custodian." Suddenly, Coleman noticed the man's tan jumpsuit and cleaning supplies. How had he missed them before?

"Oh, well, I have to be on my way then," he said, thoroughly creeped out. The man placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Actually, Mr. Reese, I have a favor to ask. You see, by helping me, you'll help the company. And I can tell you really care about your work."

Coleman nodded impassively, his eyes growing dull.

"Great," the man, Pusher, continued with a smile. "This is going to completely change Wayne Enterprises as we know it…"

"Are you sure you should be here at work?" Lucius Fox asked his companion on the elevator with concern. "There have been attempts on your life. Aren't you worried?"

Bruce shrugged. "Mr. Fox, I've been through much worse. I don't let little things like death threats worry me."

Lucius sighed. "I wouldn't brag about something like that."

Nevertheless, he got off at a different floor, for he had a increasing amount of work to do. Bruce got off at the twentieth floor.

"Any messages for me, Maxine?"

"Um, several checkups from different people from the police station, making sure you're all right. I told them you weren't in yet and I would call back as soon as you arrived. A Miss Bianca Swanson also called and said she was 'literally going into hypodermic shock just thinking about your handsome face being in danger.' She also said you should fire your butler."

Bruce grinned. "Ah, well, maybe I'll call her back at a _later_ date." He paused at his door and turned back to his secretary.

"Do you think she even knows what hypodermic shock is?"

Maxine laughed.

Bruce entered his office, feeling the tiniest bit better, but his mood quickly dropped at what he saw.

Coleman Reese was standing on the window ledge, facing outward, seemingly prepared to jump.

"Mr. Reese, what are you doing?" Bruce asked cautiously, instantly realizing that this had to be Pusher's doing.

"I'm helping the company," he responded in a monotone voice.

Bruce edged closer until he was only a few feet from the window. He didn't see any point in trying to reason with the man, but he supposed he should give a warning.

"Look, I'm going to try to get you off this ledge-"

"I'll jump," Coleman said, still not looking at Bruce. "But you can save me. You can save the company."

"How's that?"

"Shoot yourself. End the turmoil you've put Gotham through. He left a gun in the top drawer."

Bruce went to his desk to double-check this statement. Sure enough, there lay a small pistol, with three bullets in it. He looked back at Coleman, who was leaning even farther out the window.

"Come on, Reese. Snap out of this. You're way too arrogant too kill yourself. Get out of the window."

"You're not willing to die to save a life?" Coleman said in the same deadpan voice. Obviously, Pusher had fed these lines into him before leaving him to die. He still faced away from Bruce; his dangled one foot dangerously out the window.

"Fine. If that's what it takes to get you off that ledge, fine. I'll do it."

Coleman remained standing where he was as Bruce pointed the gun unwaveringly toward his head.

The sound of a gunshot split the air. Maxine dropped her coffee and gasped. She jumped from her seat and ran into the office.

"Mr. Wayne, I heard a- oh my God!"

"Help me!" Bruce yelled over his shoulder, as he struggled to pull Coleman back through the window by his ankles. Maxine hurried over and, although she certainly wasn't strong, it was enough to pull him through. Coleman lay on the ground, eyes fluttering and mumbling incoherently.

"Is he okay? What happened? Should I call the police?" Maxine spoke quickly, looking around like the whole room would collapse.

"He'll be all right. Call 911," Bruce replied. She left the room and Coleman just lay there unconscious.

_Thank God I got to him in time_, Bruce thought, rubbing his head. He'd shot the gun into the air, expecting Coleman to jump at the sound of his suicide. He did, but Bruce barely got to the window in time to grab him.

_That's it. No more games. You're going down, Pusher. No one's going to die because of your sick sense of entertainment. I'm going to find you and stop you…tonight!_

**Author's Note:** So, yeah, that took way too long to update. Thankfully, school's out and I should have more time for writing. :) Anyway, I think this was the most action-packed, in-depth chapter so far. So that makes up for the wait, right? As always, please review; they mean so much. Next chapter will be the end of the Pusher story and the start of the next plotline. BTW I have a Superman story called Project Kal-El that I just came out with. Please R&R it too! Thanks! :)


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